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by gaboriks



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-05 00:11:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaboriks/pseuds/gaboriks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike’s new house is big.</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> uh mike likes jeff but jeff LOVES mike and that was enough inspiration to write a really shitty fic during midterms

Mike’s new house is big.

His realtor had sold him on the house before he even reached Los Angeles. At that point, he didn’t care about how many bedrooms or windows it had; Philadelphia was still a fresh wound, and he was desperate to just get out of the city.

Mike had reached Los Angeles a week later, with two suitcases and a chip on his shoulder.

It wasn't as easy for Jeff to make an effort to move on. What was originally just going to be a couple of days on the Jersey shore to regroup had apparently turned into a mental breakdown. Mike half-heartedly tried to inspire him to face reality, but Jeff had snapped that he wasn’t his captain anymore.

Mike stopped talking to him for a couple weeks, and Jeff hadn’t drunk dialed him that often since they were rookies.

The Kings were nice. Brown had stayed in L.A. during the offseason, and took showing Mike around as part of his captainly duty. Unlike Philly though, it seemed like almost everyone had a family to go home to. Mike had a dog.

He found himself spending more time then he ever did in Philly with his teammates. He accepted any offers that came at him, from going to get pancakes with Penner to trying some some new yoga fad with Mitchell. Anything to stay away from his house.

Mike didn't know when his stupid house ended up representing everything that made Los Angeles shitty, but it did.

Mike’s agent seemed to pick up on that (since when was he so easy to read?), had taken pity and hired an interior decorator for him. He didn’t think any amount of wax fruit or black and white photos of the beach could make it actually feel like home, but it was better than nothing. Back in Philly, he never worried about whether or not the lighting in the living room added enough drama or whatever bullshit the decorator had tried to sell him on. There was always some bar to go to; some teammate coming over to fuck up his apartment.

Mike often wondered if his house was too big. It definitely was too much house for one guy and his dog.

Now, it just seemed like all he did was play hockey and talk on the phone with Jeff. Jeff, at this point, didn’t even try to pretend like he wasn’t completely miserable on the phone.

He missed Jeff.

More than he thought he would, actually.

He ended up ducking out of bars early more often or not, texting Jeff little anecdotes from the team instead of talking to the girls the team directed him to. It got to the point where the guys wouldn’t even fight him as he left, just rolling their eyes and asking him how the “wife” was doing. Mike didn’t know how he felt about that.

Mike found himself at the end of one of those nights on the phone with Jeff, who was obviously drunk and bitching about something that Rick Nash had done. "Let me get this straight," Mike had said, "You're pissed because he told you to start hanging out with the team?"

Jeff had snorted. "It's Columbus. I don't know how that managed to drip down to everyone here, but I'd rather stay at home and talk to you."

Mike was silent.

"I miss you," Jeff admitted, slurring his words slightly. "Just. Fuck Philly. I miss playing with you."

"I miss you too," Mike admitted, starting his car. He didn't understand how that came out so easily, or why he felt his heart drop as he said it.

Jeff's voice began to raise. "Maybe one day we'll play together again, show Philly they were fucking wrong. Fuck Philly."

"You already said that."

"The sentiment-" which Jeff ended up completely slandering the pronunciation of (somebody should cut him off, Mike thought, before realizing he was probably wasted in his condo) "-still stands."

It was unlikely. The contracts, which they had originally been so proud of (finish your career in Philly! How great was that!) meant that they were going to be separated for at least the next seven years. Mike had done a good job of ignoring any possible feelings he might of had in Philly, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to bring them up now.

"I have to drive home," Mike said, "I'll talk to you later."

Jeff made a pained noise. "Bye."

"Bye." Mike hung up before he could say anything else. He started on his way home, trying to put away the thought that maybe, if Jeff was here, his house wouldn't feel so empty.


End file.
